The first post that I ever wrote on Blogger explained the meaning behind "My Bella Figlia". For the pronunciation of "figlia", go here and click on the listening feature. To hear Pavarotti sing the aria Bella Figlia dell'amore, click here.
I first started blogging on the (now defunct) parenting site Maya's Mom. It was a wonderful community and I "met" several wonderful women, like BonggaMom and Jamie Lee. They gave daily blog prompts like "3 things I want to remember about my kids..." and "My Moment Wednesday". The site was sold to Babycenter, which is lovely. Really. It's just not Maya's Mom. All of my Maya's Mom posts are archived here. Several posts are missing photos as the save option allowed for text only. I keep telling myself that I'll get around to restoring these posts someday, but...*sigh*)
I generally blog in the morning while Sesame Street is on. I used to be more proactive about it, blogging at night and setting up posts for the following day, but I haven't done that in a while. I've found that the mommy-blog medium just works for me. I love being able to incorporate pictures and music to my posts, and I love that, in some ways at least, the internet is more permanent than a journal or a scrapbook. I love being able to connect not only with people like me, but with people that come from other experiences and truths. I want my kids to know who I was when I'm gone, not just as their mother, but as a person, and I want to be able to look back with rheumy eyes and remember those 3 things about them that I didn't want to forget.
For more blog-revealing spins, head on over to Sprite's Keeper.
Showing posts with label spin cycle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spin cycle. Show all posts
Friday, March 19, 2010
Friday, June 19, 2009
Spin Cycle: That One Time...
When I was 17 or 18 years old, my mother asked me to drive my two younger sisters to our grandparents' house in Milwaukee, WI. Mind you, we'd made the 5-7 hour trip hundreds of times as a family, and I think that by that point I may have already made the trip once myself. Mom would be joining us on vacation one week later. No problem, right? Yeah, right!
Almost immediately, the situation Did Not Bode Well. As we drove out of Minneapolis on 94, the heavens opened in a rainstorm of epic proportions. Sheets of rain blinded drivers, and traffic all but stopped for an hour. Somewhere in that hour, our windshield wipers must have gotten tired, because they decided to take a siesta for the rest of the trip. I will never forget the chaos of my sister Lisa, crying and clutching our barking black lab mix ,Brutus, in the back seat or Natalie's long hair streaming with rain as she hung her head out the window, guiding me as I inched the car forward. We would've quit then if we'd been able to turn around, but we couldn't and when the rain stopped we thought our troubles were over and continued on, looking forward to seeing our Nana and Grandpa.
It didn't take long to determine that something was definitely wrong with my car...I called it my Chevy 'Ebrity (the "C-E-L" had fallen off sometime in the distant past). The lights, the radio (and of course the windshield wipers) worked intermittently, if at all. In Eau Claire, we stopped at a gas station to call my dad for advice. He said that it was probably the alternator, and that since we were already at the halfway mark we should continue on to Milwaukee. He gave me two instructions:
1) Whatever you do, don't turn the car off because it probably won't start again, and
2) Do not run more than one electrical thing at once. Since the sun was going down, that pretty much meant nothing but the headlights, and we were mad that we couldn't listen to the radio.
The whole "leave the car on" also concerned us because we had to fill the gas tank. I made the girls take the dog away from the car to stand on the grass just off of the gas station's property. Oh, the copious tears and pleading! They were sure that I was going to explode, and I wasn't too sure that they were wrong. Drama Queen that I am, I bravely told them that I was the big sister, and if anyone was getting blown up, it would be me because I was in charge. Needless to say, no-one blew up and ,despite our disappointment, we managed to press on.
All went fairly well until we discovered that our exit (you know, the only one we'd ever taken, the one that our mother WROTE DOWN FOR US) was closed due to construction. This was before cell phones, I suck at reading maps, and my alternate map-readers were 11 and 14 respectively ( and Brutus wasn't much help, either.) We got horribly, terribly, awfully lost. Driving around in circles until we're almost out of gas and all of the gas-stations are closed and we're on the Wrong Side of Town and we're too scared to ask the pimp and the hookers on the street-corners for directions lost! Driving the wrong way on a one way lost! Oh my God we're going to die and it's all my fault lost.
Just when we were about to give up and write our last will and testaments on the backs of gum wrappers, I saw a police cruiser pulled over on the freeway. The police officer was writing out his paperwork for the night with his interior lights on, and I can't imagine what he thought when I parked in front of him and came flying at his window tear-streaked and babbling. I gave him my Nana and Grandpa's address and he began to calmly give me directions. My face must have blanked, because he paused, smiled and said, "You know what? Why don't I lead you there?" I nodded like an idiot bobble head and that good, good man drove us right to Downer Ave, where we belonged. It was past midnight, but my Grandpa was sitting out on the front steps waiting for us. He hugged us hard and I think my sisters may have actually kissed the driveway. Our car had made it just barely there, dying as I pulled in, never to run again.
I remember that my sisters and I crowded into one bed that night and prayed for that good cop before succumbing to the cool sheets and soft pillows. To us, we had survived an adventure filled with drama and danger and emerged if not victorious, blissfully intact.
I have no idea why this is one of my favorite memories. Maybe because I can see my sisters stamped so clearly in my mind's eye, or because it comforts me to remember that kind police officer and how safe I felt in my grandfather's arms and under my Nana's clean, bright sheets. Good times, good times...
Almost immediately, the situation Did Not Bode Well. As we drove out of Minneapolis on 94, the heavens opened in a rainstorm of epic proportions. Sheets of rain blinded drivers, and traffic all but stopped for an hour. Somewhere in that hour, our windshield wipers must have gotten tired, because they decided to take a siesta for the rest of the trip. I will never forget the chaos of my sister Lisa, crying and clutching our barking black lab mix ,Brutus, in the back seat or Natalie's long hair streaming with rain as she hung her head out the window, guiding me as I inched the car forward. We would've quit then if we'd been able to turn around, but we couldn't and when the rain stopped we thought our troubles were over and continued on, looking forward to seeing our Nana and Grandpa.
It didn't take long to determine that something was definitely wrong with my car...I called it my Chevy 'Ebrity (the "C-E-L" had fallen off sometime in the distant past). The lights, the radio (and of course the windshield wipers) worked intermittently, if at all. In Eau Claire, we stopped at a gas station to call my dad for advice. He said that it was probably the alternator, and that since we were already at the halfway mark we should continue on to Milwaukee. He gave me two instructions:
1) Whatever you do, don't turn the car off because it probably won't start again, and
2) Do not run more than one electrical thing at once. Since the sun was going down, that pretty much meant nothing but the headlights, and we were mad that we couldn't listen to the radio.
The whole "leave the car on" also concerned us because we had to fill the gas tank. I made the girls take the dog away from the car to stand on the grass just off of the gas station's property. Oh, the copious tears and pleading! They were sure that I was going to explode, and I wasn't too sure that they were wrong. Drama Queen that I am, I bravely told them that I was the big sister, and if anyone was getting blown up, it would be me because I was in charge. Needless to say, no-one blew up and ,despite our disappointment, we managed to press on.
All went fairly well until we discovered that our exit (you know, the only one we'd ever taken, the one that our mother WROTE DOWN FOR US) was closed due to construction. This was before cell phones, I suck at reading maps, and my alternate map-readers were 11 and 14 respectively ( and Brutus wasn't much help, either.) We got horribly, terribly, awfully lost. Driving around in circles until we're almost out of gas and all of the gas-stations are closed and we're on the Wrong Side of Town and we're too scared to ask the pimp and the hookers on the street-corners for directions lost! Driving the wrong way on a one way lost! Oh my God we're going to die and it's all my fault lost.
Just when we were about to give up and write our last will and testaments on the backs of gum wrappers, I saw a police cruiser pulled over on the freeway. The police officer was writing out his paperwork for the night with his interior lights on, and I can't imagine what he thought when I parked in front of him and came flying at his window tear-streaked and babbling. I gave him my Nana and Grandpa's address and he began to calmly give me directions. My face must have blanked, because he paused, smiled and said, "You know what? Why don't I lead you there?" I nodded like an idiot bobble head and that good, good man drove us right to Downer Ave, where we belonged. It was past midnight, but my Grandpa was sitting out on the front steps waiting for us. He hugged us hard and I think my sisters may have actually kissed the driveway. Our car had made it just barely there, dying as I pulled in, never to run again.
I remember that my sisters and I crowded into one bed that night and prayed for that good cop before succumbing to the cool sheets and soft pillows. To us, we had survived an adventure filled with drama and danger and emerged if not victorious, blissfully intact.
I have no idea why this is one of my favorite memories. Maybe because I can see my sisters stamped so clearly in my mind's eye, or because it comforts me to remember that kind police officer and how safe I felt in my grandfather's arms and under my Nana's clean, bright sheets. Good times, good times...
Friday, May 22, 2009
Spin Cycle: Take This Kitteh And Call Me In Da Morning
Dude! I wrote about our menagerie when I first started this blog-can you say, "Repost!"?
My husband and I, being of sound mind and body, decided not long ago that we were done having pets. After all, we only had one adult cat who, being a very independent sort, wasn't much trouble at all; he would eventually age and die and then we would be done with the muss and fuss that pets add to your life! We agreed, "After Domino, no more pets!" (Can you guess where this is going?)
Immediately, we were tested. My mother called, asking sweetly whether or not she could get our daughter a kitten for an upcoming birthday. I wavered . (It would make Sissy so happy!) My husband held firm, I remembered our pact and agreed. Our verdict? No kitten.
All went well until my girl's birthday party. It was a great party. However, during said party, our dear friend Doug brought my husband a hedgehog, of all things, that Doug's brother had recently abandoned. My reaction? "Well that's just fine! Are you serious? You say yes to a hedgehog, but no to a kitten?!" "But I've always wanted a hedgehog!" "I've known you for 15 years, and you've never once said that you wanted a hedgehog!" "Well, I did (secretly want one)." "That sucks, Dude!" (Yes, occasionally I actually do talk that way.) "Fine, whatever, Winter can have a kitten." I knew that he didn't mean it, but I was feeling vengeful, so I told my mom.
Back at the ranch, I was having problems of my own. See, a few years ago I had a dog named Rocky ("Rock" for short). He was too big and too sassy and technically my daughter's dog, but I loved him. I was heartbroken when we had to find a new home for him, and something about the autumn air was making me really miss my dog. I started stalking schnoodles and mini-dachshunds online, knowing that their temperaments and size would be a much better fit for our family. I began lingering in dog food aisles at Cub and Target. I wasn't serious, though. I mean, it's not like I had several hundred dollars laying around to drop on a dog. It would be the height of selfish irresponsibility to just get myself a dog when I could barely handle my current responsibilities, right? Right?!
Enter indulgent husband, stage left. Unbeknownst to me, he was aware that I was pining. When my sis came over for a visit, he asked her to watch the kids so that he could steal me away for lunch. We were barely out of the driveway when he said, "Wanna go buy a dog?" I immediately confessed that I'd really been wanting one, and agonizing over the idea. He replied, "I know." I explained that I wanted to show him some of the breeders websites that I'd found online (our humane society had no small dogs available, and I didn't want to perpetuate puppy mills by buying from a pet shop.) Once home, I hopped online and within hours had found the dog that I wanted: a one-year-old female isabella and tan double dapple miniature dachshund, listed for a small fraction of what it would cost for a puppy from the same breeder. In a flurry of phone calls and emails and Paypal transactions I made her mine. My mother had been kind enough to agree to go get her for me, and the next day my new dog Katie joined the household.
Did you forget about the kitten? 'Cause my mom didn't! She was tirelessly searching Freecycle and Craig's List with the sole purpose of finding her granddaughter The Perfect Kitten. After emailing me several possibilities, she found it: a pure white kitten, the likes of which my daughter has been dreaming of ever since she saw The Aristocats at age four. I now had a conundrum: how did I push my luck and get my husband to allow the kitten? I considered just picking it up and springing it on him. I considered lying and saying that we found it all alone...somewhere. In the end, I realised that I couldn't lie to him and 'fessed up. "Honey, you know how my mom called? She was wondering if she could steal Sissy and I away for a little while tomorrow, or maybe just Sissy..." "Sure, what're you guys gonna go do?" "Well, see, here's the thing..." Suddenly I had his full attention, shrewd eyes appraising mine. "I was trying to find a way to tell you, but..." "Just tell me, Ange." So I did. The thing about my husband is that he's mercurial. A very laid back guy with a hot temper, so it's always a crap shoot as to how he'll feel about something. His response when I came clean about kitten machinations? A roll of the eyes, a rueful smile, and, "What's one more at this point? Let her have the kitten!" (He also referenced Animal House.) My mom got my girl the kitten, and my daughter lovingly agreed to "share" with her brother, naming the fluffball Snowbelle Callista Pearl Mohn.
So, in review: over the course of less than two months, the couple who agreed, "No more pets" has added a hedgehog, a dog and a kitten to the mix, quadrupling the amount of pet mouths to feed. We've also agreed that we are done having children.
Aaaand, just because I love this number:
All went well until my girl's birthday party. It was a great party. However, during said party, our dear friend Doug brought my husband a hedgehog, of all things, that Doug's brother had recently abandoned. My reaction? "Well that's just fine! Are you serious? You say yes to a hedgehog, but no to a kitten?!" "But I've always wanted a hedgehog!" "I've known you for 15 years, and you've never once said that you wanted a hedgehog!" "Well, I did (secretly want one)." "That sucks, Dude!" (Yes, occasionally I actually do talk that way.) "Fine, whatever, Winter can have a kitten." I knew that he didn't mean it, but I was feeling vengeful, so I told my mom.
Back at the ranch, I was having problems of my own. See, a few years ago I had a dog named Rocky ("Rock" for short). He was too big and too sassy and technically my daughter's dog, but I loved him. I was heartbroken when we had to find a new home for him, and something about the autumn air was making me really miss my dog. I started stalking schnoodles and mini-dachshunds online, knowing that their temperaments and size would be a much better fit for our family. I began lingering in dog food aisles at Cub and Target. I wasn't serious, though. I mean, it's not like I had several hundred dollars laying around to drop on a dog. It would be the height of selfish irresponsibility to just get myself a dog when I could barely handle my current responsibilities, right? Right?!
Enter indulgent husband, stage left. Unbeknownst to me, he was aware that I was pining. When my sis came over for a visit, he asked her to watch the kids so that he could steal me away for lunch. We were barely out of the driveway when he said, "Wanna go buy a dog?" I immediately confessed that I'd really been wanting one, and agonizing over the idea. He replied, "I know." I explained that I wanted to show him some of the breeders websites that I'd found online (our humane society had no small dogs available, and I didn't want to perpetuate puppy mills by buying from a pet shop.) Once home, I hopped online and within hours had found the dog that I wanted: a one-year-old female isabella and tan double dapple miniature dachshund, listed for a small fraction of what it would cost for a puppy from the same breeder. In a flurry of phone calls and emails and Paypal transactions I made her mine. My mother had been kind enough to agree to go get her for me, and the next day my new dog Katie joined the household.
Did you forget about the kitten? 'Cause my mom didn't! She was tirelessly searching Freecycle and Craig's List with the sole purpose of finding her granddaughter The Perfect Kitten. After emailing me several possibilities, she found it: a pure white kitten, the likes of which my daughter has been dreaming of ever since she saw The Aristocats at age four. I now had a conundrum: how did I push my luck and get my husband to allow the kitten? I considered just picking it up and springing it on him. I considered lying and saying that we found it all alone...somewhere. In the end, I realised that I couldn't lie to him and 'fessed up. "Honey, you know how my mom called? She was wondering if she could steal Sissy and I away for a little while tomorrow, or maybe just Sissy..." "Sure, what're you guys gonna go do?" "Well, see, here's the thing..." Suddenly I had his full attention, shrewd eyes appraising mine. "I was trying to find a way to tell you, but..." "Just tell me, Ange." So I did. The thing about my husband is that he's mercurial. A very laid back guy with a hot temper, so it's always a crap shoot as to how he'll feel about something. His response when I came clean about kitten machinations? A roll of the eyes, a rueful smile, and, "What's one more at this point? Let her have the kitten!" (He also referenced Animal House.) My mom got my girl the kitten, and my daughter lovingly agreed to "share" with her brother, naming the fluffball Snowbelle Callista Pearl Mohn.
So, in review: over the course of less than two months, the couple who agreed, "No more pets" has added a hedgehog, a dog and a kitten to the mix, quadrupling the amount of pet mouths to feed. We've also agreed that we are done having children.
Aaaand, just because I love this number:
Friday, May 1, 2009
Spin Cycle: Mea Culpa
"Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!"
This latin phrase from my childhood translates as, "My fault, my fault, my most grievous fault!" I don't know how it's used by other families, but in MY family it is ONLY used sarcastically. "You think that I made a mistake?! You must be mistaken!" "You're wrong for thinking I'm wrong, so that makes you wrong TWICE!" "Yeah?! Well, MEA CULPA!!!"
I've made thousands (and THOUSANDS) of mistakes! Pick a topic and I've botched it. Career, finances, health and *gasp* childrearing?! Check, check aaaand double-check! My greatest mistake(s), however, are the ones that are also currently causing me the most grief.
Growing up, it did not occur to me that I could go against my parent's wishes. Oh, I rebelled, but the idea of striking out on my own to pursue something that my parents had put "the kibosh" on just didn't register. This is hard to explain. Cases in point: My father refused to pay for my driving lessons and license until I was 18 years old. Did it occur to me to pony up my own cash and arrange rides and the use of a car?! Ummm, no. My mother offered to mail my college applications to NYU and Julliard and then DIDN'T. On PURPOSE. I did reapply on my own the next year, but my dad made too much money for me to get enough financing. (Colleges tend to mistakingly believe that teens automatically get money from their parents for college...not so, my friend.) My mother MOVED JESSE INTO MY BEDROOM. I came home one day, and there he was with a smile and a duffel bag. Oh, and I was dating someone else at the time.
Do I need to take responsibility for my own decisions (including the decision to take the easy road and let the manipulative actions of my loved ones stand?) YES. But that's not my biggest mistake. My biggest mistake has been allowing myself to be penned in. Being full of rage because the most important people in my life are FUCKING DIFFICULT. I've handled it badly. Leaving these people is not an option. Redrawing the lines between us is agonizing. I let myself be railroaded and I regret having put myself in a position where I have little personal freedom. I'm working on it.
For more mistakes, visit Jen over at Sprite's Keeper.
This latin phrase from my childhood translates as, "My fault, my fault, my most grievous fault!" I don't know how it's used by other families, but in MY family it is ONLY used sarcastically. "You think that I made a mistake?! You must be mistaken!" "You're wrong for thinking I'm wrong, so that makes you wrong TWICE!" "Yeah?! Well, MEA CULPA!!!"
I've made thousands (and THOUSANDS) of mistakes! Pick a topic and I've botched it. Career, finances, health and *gasp* childrearing?! Check, check aaaand double-check! My greatest mistake(s), however, are the ones that are also currently causing me the most grief.
Growing up, it did not occur to me that I could go against my parent's wishes. Oh, I rebelled, but the idea of striking out on my own to pursue something that my parents had put "the kibosh" on just didn't register. This is hard to explain. Cases in point: My father refused to pay for my driving lessons and license until I was 18 years old. Did it occur to me to pony up my own cash and arrange rides and the use of a car?! Ummm, no. My mother offered to mail my college applications to NYU and Julliard and then DIDN'T. On PURPOSE. I did reapply on my own the next year, but my dad made too much money for me to get enough financing. (Colleges tend to mistakingly believe that teens automatically get money from their parents for college...not so, my friend.) My mother MOVED JESSE INTO MY BEDROOM. I came home one day, and there he was with a smile and a duffel bag. Oh, and I was dating someone else at the time.
Do I need to take responsibility for my own decisions (including the decision to take the easy road and let the manipulative actions of my loved ones stand?) YES. But that's not my biggest mistake. My biggest mistake has been allowing myself to be penned in. Being full of rage because the most important people in my life are FUCKING DIFFICULT. I've handled it badly. Leaving these people is not an option. Redrawing the lines between us is agonizing. I let myself be railroaded and I regret having put myself in a position where I have little personal freedom. I'm working on it.
For more mistakes, visit Jen over at Sprite's Keeper.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Spin Cycle: The Longest Time
"If you said goodbye to me tonight
There would still be music left to write
What else could I do,
I'm so inspired by you
That hasn't happened for the longest time"
When I met Jesse, I thought that he was the most beautiful, talented boy I'd ever met. I'd stand in front of his artwork in the gallery and wonder what he thought about when he made each piece.
"Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That's when you found me,
when you put your arms around me
I haven't been there for the longest time"
I put myself in a position to be used by everyone I met. I had learned that if someone could gain from you, they would and they wouldn't sweat the mess they left behind. Jesse made me feel calm. He didn't make the hair on the back of my neck raise. I sat next to him for hours in the computer lab as he worked, just to be near him.
"I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall
And the greatest miracle of all
Is how I need you,
and how you needed me too
That hasn't happened in the longest time"
Now we've been together forever. We are so different. The only things that we really have in common are our children and the memories we've made together. He still needs me to mother him sometimes, and I need him to make me feel truly safe. Sometimes I wake up next to him and remember what it was like when we were teens, and still a mystery to one another. When we could hold each other without knowing what the other was thinking. When we weren't thinking about the dishes in the sink, or the mortgage, or a deadline. When our answer was almost always, "Yes, baby."
"I had second thoughts at the start
I said to myself, hold on to your heart
Now I know the [man] that you are
It's wonderful so far
And you're more than I'd hoped for"
I read somewhere that the secret to staying married was simply to stay married. I get it. Every few years or so, we'll let an argument go just a little too far and I'll think, "Oops. There may be no coming back from that one." The next morning always brings a new day, and my husband's love with it.
"I don't care what consequence it brings
I have been a fool for lesser things
I want you so bad,
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for the longest time"
Sometimes home can't be found where you think you'll find it. Sometimes love isn't what you thought it was. For me, it's all wrapped up in one handsome, crazy talented, moody guy.
"Whoa Oh Oh Oh For the longest time
Whoa, Oh Oh Oh For the longest time"
Click here to read more spins about "Time" at Sprite's Keeper.
There would still be music left to write
What else could I do,
I'm so inspired by you
That hasn't happened for the longest time"
When I met Jesse, I thought that he was the most beautiful, talented boy I'd ever met. I'd stand in front of his artwork in the gallery and wonder what he thought about when he made each piece.
"Once I thought my innocence was gone
Now I know that happiness goes on
That's when you found me,
when you put your arms around me
I haven't been there for the longest time"
I put myself in a position to be used by everyone I met. I had learned that if someone could gain from you, they would and they wouldn't sweat the mess they left behind. Jesse made me feel calm. He didn't make the hair on the back of my neck raise. I sat next to him for hours in the computer lab as he worked, just to be near him.
"I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall
And the greatest miracle of all
Is how I need you,
and how you needed me too
That hasn't happened in the longest time"
Now we've been together forever. We are so different. The only things that we really have in common are our children and the memories we've made together. He still needs me to mother him sometimes, and I need him to make me feel truly safe. Sometimes I wake up next to him and remember what it was like when we were teens, and still a mystery to one another. When we could hold each other without knowing what the other was thinking. When we weren't thinking about the dishes in the sink, or the mortgage, or a deadline. When our answer was almost always, "Yes, baby."
"I had second thoughts at the start
I said to myself, hold on to your heart
Now I know the [man] that you are
It's wonderful so far
And you're more than I'd hoped for"
I read somewhere that the secret to staying married was simply to stay married. I get it. Every few years or so, we'll let an argument go just a little too far and I'll think, "Oops. There may be no coming back from that one." The next morning always brings a new day, and my husband's love with it.
"I don't care what consequence it brings
I have been a fool for lesser things
I want you so bad,
I think you ought to know that
I intend to hold you for the longest time"
Sometimes home can't be found where you think you'll find it. Sometimes love isn't what you thought it was. For me, it's all wrapped up in one handsome, crazy talented, moody guy.
"Whoa Oh Oh Oh For the longest time
Whoa, Oh Oh Oh For the longest time"
Click here to read more spins about "Time" at Sprite's Keeper.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Spin Cycle: There is No Write Way
The written word and I have a love/hate relationship. Hand me a pen and paper when I'm in the depths of despair, and the perfect muse will speak through me, scrawling poetry in shining lines across the page. Should I try to write something involving plot or character, however, the experience becomes not unlike attempting to drain the ocean with a sieve. I've had a blank Word document saved on my desktop for the last 6 months titled, "Here is where I will write a bitchin' story". I'm tortured, really. Very sad.
Despite the horror, I have selected three pieces to post for this spin. The first is a picture book that I wrote when my husband wanted something new in his portfolio. I wrote this, and then he put our niece Codi's tennies on the deck railing and drew the accompanying illustration:
The Walk
I was walking 'long the sidewalk
not much looking where I was going
when I slowed to inspect an anthill
and some flowers that were growing
inside a fence, around a tree
and as I bent to sniff a leaf
I felt a tapping on my shoulder,
turned, and to my disbelief
saw a magic little man
mouth agape in obvious surprise
"You have lovely, dainty shoes, " he exclaimed,
"and they look just about my size!"
Now I loved those little shoes,
they had sparkles and red laces
and with a marker on the toes
I'd drawn two funny little faces
(so that I'd never be very lonely
with my shoes to share the view)
but when I looked apon the gnome
I thought, "Might he be lonely, too?"
So I untied my loopy laces
and comforted him, "There, there,
you may have my friendly shoes
as I can make another pair."
Well that man was so ecstatic
you see, he was so very glad
because, he explained,
the holey shoes he wore
were the only shoes he had.
And then he thanked me most profusely
as I reveled in bare feet
that scrunched in spiky, greeny grass
as he skipped gaily up the street.
So I headed for home and saddle shoes
that have been quite transformed, I think
by the sequins and the sparkles,
purple laces and the ink.
Illustration by Jesse Mohn 2000
I'm a huge fan of Jane Yolen, and in her book Here There Be Dragons, she writes about how she was invited to join a bunch of writers that were contributing to a book made up entirely of 100-word stories. I have a hard time with editing, and so tried my hand at writing 100 100-word stories as an exercise (I wrote 8-lol!) Here's my favorite one:
This last is a work-in-progress, a romance/murder mystery (I think.) I'm kinda unsure as to which direction I want to take with this and my sister Natalie has been less than helpful:
Me: "What if Maribeth finds a body in the freezer? Or wait! What if she kills Cade and puts him in the freezer!?"
Natalie: "No! What's wrong with you?! The heroine can't kill the hero!"
Me: "Okay, what if they fall in love and then she finds out that they didn't meet by chance, he planned it because he is looking for his biological sister and she may or may not be it?!? Then she kills him."
Natalie: "What?! No! No incest!"
Me (in a last ditch effort): "Okay, I've got it! He's a recovering meth addict!"
Natalie: "No, Angela! We're supposed to like him!"
Clearly, I have issues...anyway, here it is:
Untitled
On a particularly lovely April morning, love found Maribeth Hoyt as she stood unsuspecting beneath a broken umbrella waiting for the bus that would take her to the restaurant that employed her as their associate manager. The moment was lost on her initially, as she was busy lamenting the ruination of her new heels, now standing in a puddle the size of Canada that would, she was sure, prove to be much deeper in the middle. For a second, she imagined that the water would swallow her up, closing over her head for a count of eternity when she tried to board the bus and feed the correct change into the correct slot with cold, wet fingers. Overwhelmed by the thought, Maribeth did not notice that the bus had arrived and the other passengers begun to stream toward the open doors until she felt a hand close over hers, and the handle of the umbrella she held.
Instinct caused her to pull away from this intrusion, until she found herself staring into the face of a man that she’d never met before that looked, on top of amused in the area of his eyes and grim around the mouth, like he knew things about her that she’d never even admitted to herself.
"This is garbage." He said matter-of-factly as he twisted her functionless rain gear out of her fingers so quickly and deftly that if he hadn’t addressed her, he could’ve made the switch (for that is what he had just done she realized) without her being any-the-wiser. The umbrella that her fingers now curled around was of a much higher quality than she was accustomed to. "Oh no, I couldn’t!" Maribeth tried to laugh, but her breath caught when he turned her masterfully and, with a hand at the small of her back, marched her through the puddle-of-death and up the steep corrugated steps of the bus, paying for both of their fares effortlessly, with one hand and no counting or groans of impatience from the peanut gallery. "You can give it back to me tomorrow if it’s stopped raining. The umbrella, not the change. No arguing." Maribeth tried to summon the outrage that came so easily to the heroines in romance novels but could only gape and then blush when he winked at her. He looks slick, she thought, but in a really appealing way.
The next morning, he met her at the bus-stop. Handing her one of two insulated cups from Starbucks, he took a sip of his own coffee before accepting the umbrella that she held out to him. He tucked it under his arm before assisting her up the steps with a hand on her elbow, again paying her fare and sitting reassuringly beside her before winking as she got off at her stop at the restaurant.
"What’s this guy’s name?" Denise demanded, standing in the closet that the restaurant boasted as its office. Denise’s hair was currently red and worn in a spiked fan at the back of her head, held in place by bright lacquered chop-sticks. She wore a skin tight black t-shirt with the store’s logo on it, a black denim mini skirt, and rainbow striped tights along with her steel toed work boots and air-brushed acrylic claws that were currently brandishing a gleaming spat for emphasis.
"How in God’s name do you cook with those damn things and where is your hairnet?" Maribeth asked for the millionth time, and smiled to herself as she sat back to appreciate Denise's ability to escalate.
"I told you, these nails are…stop evading the question! Seriously, spill it! Where did you meet him, what’s his name, and when do we get to meet him?"
"And I told you, ‘at the bus stop, I don’t know and shortly after never! Break’s over, Niecy."
Denise narrowed her eyes and pointed a talon in Maribeth’s direction. "Well that’s just fine. You just remember that while you’re back here playing with inventory and schedules, I’m going to be informing the girls up front and I swear in the name of Prince and the Revolution that I will get the details from you eventually and eviscerate this guy if he harms one boring hair on your head. He sounds like a total psycho, take it from a girl who knows!"
Maribeth raised a hand self-consciously to the mahogany chignon she preferred for work as Denise stomped toward the cook’s line . Her hair was too coarse, too curly to be given free reign while at work. Soon she would be finishing up morning numbers and calling them in to her regional manager and then heading to the floor, where she would likely find herself carrying at least a few trays on her shoulder out to tables before making rounds to the guests and letting the servers go one by one as the day went on. She glanced at the right shoulder of her new suit jacket ruefully, resigning herself to the likelihood of scorch marks from the trays before the day was out, thinking for the thousandth time that the company should either allow uniforms or offer a clothing allowance in addition to management’s meager salary.
By the time Maribeth made it to the front of the house, breakfast was in full swing. Servers swung in and out of the pantry, twirling through like modern dancers in a careful ballet to choruses of "Food up!" "Tray in!" and "Behind you!" Maribeth watched a server named Julie swipe a fry from a plate that showcased a gigantic omelet. "I’m starving!" Julie grinned. "Knock it off or I’ll break your fingers!" Maribeth smiled back, "Now get this food out of my window!" "You know you love me!" Julie sang as she carried the tray as big as she was out the door like it weighed no more than a feather. "And that will be the death of me!" Maribeth quipped.
Hours later, exhausted and trying to talk herself into being enthusiastic for the remaining three hours of her ten hour shift, Maribeth gamely tried to count down the drawers from the morning while her assistant manager smoked a cigarette and grilled her. "So basically what you’re saying is that you don’t know this guy from Adam, and that he could, for all you know, conceivably be a mass-murderer learning your typical movements before snatching and killing you." At this point in the conversation, Sarah offered her boss and friend a cigarette, eyes laughing as she watched Maribeth’s internal war with good and evil.
"Sixty, eighty, hundred, knock-it-off-I-quit-smoking, one twenty, one forty.."
"Is he hot?"
"One six…" Maribeth looked up, "Gorgeous. Mysterious. Exciting. Which is a problem, because as you know I am average, ordinary, and boring. This is the kind of thing that happens to Denise, which is why we need her. So we can live vicariously through her while the rest of us go home to an empty apartment and a cat or a husband and several children that need to be fed, the irony of which should not be lost on you. Now I need you up front, and I need to count this drawer so that I can make the deposit and take your place up front, thereby allowing you to go home. Or is that not the goal?" Maribeth stared at Sarah’s little face pointedly.
"We’re not done talking about this, and you are not ordinary and boring you are sneaky and scary smart, which is why we’re all so worried that you’re being so dumb about this. It’s almost as bad as flying to Alabama to meet someone that you met over the Internet. We do not approve." And then as Maribeth resumed counting, Sarah leaned in to whisper, "Seven, fifty-two, eleven!" before scooting out on a laugh as Maribeth gave a deep sigh and started counting over.
***************************************************************
Cade Nelson pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot, turned off the engine to his car and wondered why the hell he had driven here after the bus had dropped him off near the park-n-ride. So what if she hadn’t been on the bus for the ride home. What if she had only headed into this restaurant for breakfast these last few days before going to work somewhere else nearby? Why hadn’t he at least gotten her name? He sighed and started the ignition, and then turned it off again. He’d been trying to play this cool. Having learned early on that if you said as little as possible and looked agreeable, most people, good people, when left to determine whether they liked you or not generally decided to like you on very little evidence. He figured that it was because they could imagine that he thought the same things that they thought, which he sometimes did. The stutter and speech impediment of his early years were long gone, but the lessons he’d learned to cope back then were more than useful all the way up to the here and now. What the hell. Worst case scenario he could eat a dinner that he didn’t have to make himself.
"Omigod, omigod!" teenaged server Emily burst into the office as Maribeth zipped the deposit bag closed and slipped one arm into her red overcoat. "There is a really cute guy asking for you at the register!"
"Me me, or manager me?" Maribeth asked, trying to prepare herself for the worst, like being yelled at for forty-five minutes over a serving of lukewarm corn.
"Neither!" Emily crowed. "He described you. He asked if you were a regular customer or an employee. Sarah’s giving him the standard, ‘We can’t give out information about our employees’ spiel! Get out there!"
Maribeth fought the urge to bolt down the hall, telling herself, "It isn’t him. Who else would it be?! No, it isn’t him." Reaching the front counter she asked Sarah, "Did someone ask for me?"
"Uh-huh!" Sarah’s arms were folded and she nodded to the table she’d sat last. "Mystery Bus Guy?"
"Mystery Bus Guy." Maribeth realized that she was fighting for breath only when Sarah slapped her hard between the shoulder blades. She could just turn and walk away, she thought, and as if he’d heard her, Mystery Bus Guy lifted his handsome head from the shadow of his folded menu, met her eyes and half rose to his feet. "Excuse me," Maribeth reached for a normal voice before turning on her heel and clipping back into the pantry.
"How did he describe me?" she asked Emily who was even now half over the cook’s window relaying details to Denise. Shit.
"Really pretty girl who only wears black, white and red. Marginally prepared for disaster." Emily’s wide mouth managed to look mocking while her eyes sold innocence.
"He did not say that!"
"I swear to my mother!" Behind Emily Denise’s face looked like a thundercloud, and Maribeth could hear her acrylic nails tapping menacingly against the cutting board.
"Em, get back on the floor! Denise…" Maribeth tried to think of something managerial to say and then decided against it. Denise was one of the few that never needed babysitting. She always did her job and Maribeth considered her a dear, personal friend. Besides, she didn’t believe in being bossy for the hell of it. "Neicy, don’t look like that!" Maribeth scooped up a carafe of coffee and two mugs in one hand, a dish of creamer and 2 small glasses of water in the other. The familiar weight of the drinks on her hands steadied her. "I’ve still got it." She murmured to herself before heading toward her mystery man and some answers.
Cade felt himself vibrating in his seat as he watched her speak briefly to the tiny woman at the register and disappear back into the unknown bowels of the restaurant, only to appear minutes later, hands full and headed his way. She walked…efficiently, he decided. She seemed different here than she had during their short acquaintance on the city bus, more deliberate, less anxious. It suited her, he decided. He appreciated facets. He smiled as she slid a coffee cup his way, poured it half full and then set the cream and ice water in front of him as well.
"So now I get to buy you coffee," Maribeth announced in what she hoped were round, dulcet, non-insane tones. He nodded sagely, silently. Well, fine. Two could play at that game. Maribeth took a sip of hot black coffee, telling herself that it would weaken her position were she to fuss with little packets of sugar and non-dairy creamer. Rather than grimace at the bitterness of the strong brew that her patrons either loved or hated, Maribeth watched his face over the edge of her thick white cup. Finding his eyes steady on hers, she set down her coffee and laughed softly.
"What?"
"I feel like we’re playing a game of mirror gone bad. Did you play that game as a kid? You know, I raise a hand and you copy?" Maribeth mimed several exaggerated movements for him to demonstrate.
Smiling, Cade ran a hand though his hair. "Uh, no, I didn’t play that game, but I think I know what you mean. What is your name, Umbrella Girl?"
"Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. Maribeth." She slid her right hand toward him for a handshake and wasn’t too surprised when he held it instead. Pulling her hand from his, Maribeth added with a definite edge to her voice, "Do you have a name, or should I just call you ‘Stalker’?"
Hiding the alarm he felt, Mystery Bus Guy asked, "Is that something you have to worry about often?" He meant it as a joke and was surprised at how serious his voice sounded.
"Only once." Maribeth shrugged.
"You’re kidding."
"No, no kidding. A boyfriend of mine had a friend that didn’t understand…boundaries. After my boyfriend went to college, I’d just turn around and he’d be there. At the grocery store. At the library. At my college dorm. He drove right onto the lawn at my parents place and got out of the car with a huge vase full of roses, a big smile on his wide-open face. He scared the hell out of me. Luckily, my dad scared the hell out of him and that was that."
"Christ. I’m Cade, and I promise not to stalk you."
"Fair enough." Maribeth took another shot of caffeine and noticed Denise coming toward them. "Danger, Will Robinson! This girl’s always loaded for bear."
Cade looked to see a young fury bearing down on them and had just enough time to recall one stanza of the wicked witch of the west theme before she was upon them, sliding smoothly into the booth beside Maribeth, displacing her with apparently little to no effort. The baby-faced medusa bared her teeth at him in a flash of pseudo-friendliness before speaking in a dangerously sweet sing-song, "I’m Denise. Who are you and where do you live?"
Maribeth wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. So much for a beautiful, mysterious romance.
"Denise! You don’t have to answer that, Cade. Denise, what are you doing here?"
"Checking with you before clocking out, of course." Maribeth narrowed her eyes, as both women knew full well that this was something neither of them had bothered with once they’d determined the other to be trustworthy. "Seriously. Steve came in late so I need your key card to authorize being on the clock past my scheduled time out. As for you, I suggest that you do answer my questions. Less painful that way, you know. That is, unless you enjoy having a hostile chaperone while attempting to get the girl." Maribeth shook her head ruefully and made a small strangled sound.
"Cade Nelson." Cade reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and handed Denise a business card. "There’s my work address and phone as well as home phone, cell and email address. Maribeth, " he handed her a second card, "you should have at least as much information as our friend Denise."
Satisfied that she had enough information to give to the police should Maribeth turn up missing, Denise reverted to her usual darling self and said goodbye.
"I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to dinner." Cade smiled at Maribeth ruefully.
"No, but you can stay and have dinner while I run to the bank before it closes. If you want to stay until eight we can take the bus together."
"Actually, I brought my car. I usually drive my car into the city and then park it and take the bus. That’s why I’m here, really. I hadn’t realized that I was looking forward to seeing you until you weren’t there tonight. I’d seen you head this way the last few days when you got off of the bus and so…I could drive you home when you’re done with your shift if that’s okay with you."
Maribeth thought for a moment and then decided that if this guy was going to break her heart, he would at the very least be a very good time up until that point. It had been a too long since her last very good time. "Deal!" She stood and reached out a hand for a menu from the dinner hostess just coming onto the evening shift. "Dinner’s on me," she said, and felt a curl of anticipation twist low in her belly. "I’ll be back."
For more creative writing spins, visit Jen at Sprite's Keeper!
Despite the horror, I have selected three pieces to post for this spin. The first is a picture book that I wrote when my husband wanted something new in his portfolio. I wrote this, and then he put our niece Codi's tennies on the deck railing and drew the accompanying illustration:
The Walk
I was walking 'long the sidewalk
not much looking where I was going
when I slowed to inspect an anthill
and some flowers that were growing
inside a fence, around a tree
and as I bent to sniff a leaf
I felt a tapping on my shoulder,
turned, and to my disbelief
saw a magic little man
mouth agape in obvious surprise
"You have lovely, dainty shoes, " he exclaimed,
"and they look just about my size!"
Now I loved those little shoes,
they had sparkles and red laces
and with a marker on the toes
I'd drawn two funny little faces
(so that I'd never be very lonely
with my shoes to share the view)
but when I looked apon the gnome
I thought, "Might he be lonely, too?"
So I untied my loopy laces
and comforted him, "There, there,
you may have my friendly shoes
as I can make another pair."
Well that man was so ecstatic
you see, he was so very glad
because, he explained,
the holey shoes he wore
were the only shoes he had.
And then he thanked me most profusely
as I reveled in bare feet
that scrunched in spiky, greeny grass
as he skipped gaily up the street.
So I headed for home and saddle shoes
that have been quite transformed, I think
by the sequins and the sparkles,
purple laces and the ink.
Illustration by Jesse Mohn 2000
I'm a huge fan of Jane Yolen, and in her book Here There Be Dragons, she writes about how she was invited to join a bunch of writers that were contributing to a book made up entirely of 100-word stories. I have a hard time with editing, and so tried my hand at writing 100 100-word stories as an exercise (I wrote 8-lol!) Here's my favorite one:
Genie
Yuck. Only the love of her man would lead her to make baked beans. Taking up the can opener, she held her breath before continuing. When she resumed, thick white smoke poured from the can, spilling downward to roll along the floor. Yelping, she cleared the kitchen floor in one bound, head turned, looking fearfully over her shoulder. From the smoke emerged a small man. Hours later when Jesse came in the door, he didn't seem to notice the new palatial size and furnishing of his apartment. Lifting a silver dome from a platter he said, "What, no baked beans?"This last is a work-in-progress, a romance/murder mystery (I think.) I'm kinda unsure as to which direction I want to take with this and my sister Natalie has been less than helpful:
Me: "What if Maribeth finds a body in the freezer? Or wait! What if she kills Cade and puts him in the freezer!?"
Natalie: "No! What's wrong with you?! The heroine can't kill the hero!"
Me: "Okay, what if they fall in love and then she finds out that they didn't meet by chance, he planned it because he is looking for his biological sister and she may or may not be it?!? Then she kills him."
Natalie: "What?! No! No incest!"
Me (in a last ditch effort): "Okay, I've got it! He's a recovering meth addict!"
Natalie: "No, Angela! We're supposed to like him!"
Clearly, I have issues...anyway, here it is:
Untitled
On a particularly lovely April morning, love found Maribeth Hoyt as she stood unsuspecting beneath a broken umbrella waiting for the bus that would take her to the restaurant that employed her as their associate manager. The moment was lost on her initially, as she was busy lamenting the ruination of her new heels, now standing in a puddle the size of Canada that would, she was sure, prove to be much deeper in the middle. For a second, she imagined that the water would swallow her up, closing over her head for a count of eternity when she tried to board the bus and feed the correct change into the correct slot with cold, wet fingers. Overwhelmed by the thought, Maribeth did not notice that the bus had arrived and the other passengers begun to stream toward the open doors until she felt a hand close over hers, and the handle of the umbrella she held.
Instinct caused her to pull away from this intrusion, until she found herself staring into the face of a man that she’d never met before that looked, on top of amused in the area of his eyes and grim around the mouth, like he knew things about her that she’d never even admitted to herself.
"This is garbage." He said matter-of-factly as he twisted her functionless rain gear out of her fingers so quickly and deftly that if he hadn’t addressed her, he could’ve made the switch (for that is what he had just done she realized) without her being any-the-wiser. The umbrella that her fingers now curled around was of a much higher quality than she was accustomed to. "Oh no, I couldn’t!" Maribeth tried to laugh, but her breath caught when he turned her masterfully and, with a hand at the small of her back, marched her through the puddle-of-death and up the steep corrugated steps of the bus, paying for both of their fares effortlessly, with one hand and no counting or groans of impatience from the peanut gallery. "You can give it back to me tomorrow if it’s stopped raining. The umbrella, not the change. No arguing." Maribeth tried to summon the outrage that came so easily to the heroines in romance novels but could only gape and then blush when he winked at her. He looks slick, she thought, but in a really appealing way.
The next morning, he met her at the bus-stop. Handing her one of two insulated cups from Starbucks, he took a sip of his own coffee before accepting the umbrella that she held out to him. He tucked it under his arm before assisting her up the steps with a hand on her elbow, again paying her fare and sitting reassuringly beside her before winking as she got off at her stop at the restaurant.
"What’s this guy’s name?" Denise demanded, standing in the closet that the restaurant boasted as its office. Denise’s hair was currently red and worn in a spiked fan at the back of her head, held in place by bright lacquered chop-sticks. She wore a skin tight black t-shirt with the store’s logo on it, a black denim mini skirt, and rainbow striped tights along with her steel toed work boots and air-brushed acrylic claws that were currently brandishing a gleaming spat for emphasis.
"How in God’s name do you cook with those damn things and where is your hairnet?" Maribeth asked for the millionth time, and smiled to herself as she sat back to appreciate Denise's ability to escalate.
"I told you, these nails are…stop evading the question! Seriously, spill it! Where did you meet him, what’s his name, and when do we get to meet him?"
"And I told you, ‘at the bus stop, I don’t know and shortly after never! Break’s over, Niecy."
Denise narrowed her eyes and pointed a talon in Maribeth’s direction. "Well that’s just fine. You just remember that while you’re back here playing with inventory and schedules, I’m going to be informing the girls up front and I swear in the name of Prince and the Revolution that I will get the details from you eventually and eviscerate this guy if he harms one boring hair on your head. He sounds like a total psycho, take it from a girl who knows!"
Maribeth raised a hand self-consciously to the mahogany chignon she preferred for work as Denise stomped toward the cook’s line . Her hair was too coarse, too curly to be given free reign while at work. Soon she would be finishing up morning numbers and calling them in to her regional manager and then heading to the floor, where she would likely find herself carrying at least a few trays on her shoulder out to tables before making rounds to the guests and letting the servers go one by one as the day went on. She glanced at the right shoulder of her new suit jacket ruefully, resigning herself to the likelihood of scorch marks from the trays before the day was out, thinking for the thousandth time that the company should either allow uniforms or offer a clothing allowance in addition to management’s meager salary.
By the time Maribeth made it to the front of the house, breakfast was in full swing. Servers swung in and out of the pantry, twirling through like modern dancers in a careful ballet to choruses of "Food up!" "Tray in!" and "Behind you!" Maribeth watched a server named Julie swipe a fry from a plate that showcased a gigantic omelet. "I’m starving!" Julie grinned. "Knock it off or I’ll break your fingers!" Maribeth smiled back, "Now get this food out of my window!" "You know you love me!" Julie sang as she carried the tray as big as she was out the door like it weighed no more than a feather. "And that will be the death of me!" Maribeth quipped.
Hours later, exhausted and trying to talk herself into being enthusiastic for the remaining three hours of her ten hour shift, Maribeth gamely tried to count down the drawers from the morning while her assistant manager smoked a cigarette and grilled her. "So basically what you’re saying is that you don’t know this guy from Adam, and that he could, for all you know, conceivably be a mass-murderer learning your typical movements before snatching and killing you." At this point in the conversation, Sarah offered her boss and friend a cigarette, eyes laughing as she watched Maribeth’s internal war with good and evil.
"Sixty, eighty, hundred, knock-it-off-I-quit-smoking, one twenty, one forty.."
"Is he hot?"
"One six…" Maribeth looked up, "Gorgeous. Mysterious. Exciting. Which is a problem, because as you know I am average, ordinary, and boring. This is the kind of thing that happens to Denise, which is why we need her. So we can live vicariously through her while the rest of us go home to an empty apartment and a cat or a husband and several children that need to be fed, the irony of which should not be lost on you. Now I need you up front, and I need to count this drawer so that I can make the deposit and take your place up front, thereby allowing you to go home. Or is that not the goal?" Maribeth stared at Sarah’s little face pointedly.
"We’re not done talking about this, and you are not ordinary and boring you are sneaky and scary smart, which is why we’re all so worried that you’re being so dumb about this. It’s almost as bad as flying to Alabama to meet someone that you met over the Internet. We do not approve." And then as Maribeth resumed counting, Sarah leaned in to whisper, "Seven, fifty-two, eleven!" before scooting out on a laugh as Maribeth gave a deep sigh and started counting over.
***************************************************************
Cade Nelson pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot, turned off the engine to his car and wondered why the hell he had driven here after the bus had dropped him off near the park-n-ride. So what if she hadn’t been on the bus for the ride home. What if she had only headed into this restaurant for breakfast these last few days before going to work somewhere else nearby? Why hadn’t he at least gotten her name? He sighed and started the ignition, and then turned it off again. He’d been trying to play this cool. Having learned early on that if you said as little as possible and looked agreeable, most people, good people, when left to determine whether they liked you or not generally decided to like you on very little evidence. He figured that it was because they could imagine that he thought the same things that they thought, which he sometimes did. The stutter and speech impediment of his early years were long gone, but the lessons he’d learned to cope back then were more than useful all the way up to the here and now. What the hell. Worst case scenario he could eat a dinner that he didn’t have to make himself.
"Omigod, omigod!" teenaged server Emily burst into the office as Maribeth zipped the deposit bag closed and slipped one arm into her red overcoat. "There is a really cute guy asking for you at the register!"
"Me me, or manager me?" Maribeth asked, trying to prepare herself for the worst, like being yelled at for forty-five minutes over a serving of lukewarm corn.
"Neither!" Emily crowed. "He described you. He asked if you were a regular customer or an employee. Sarah’s giving him the standard, ‘We can’t give out information about our employees’ spiel! Get out there!"
Maribeth fought the urge to bolt down the hall, telling herself, "It isn’t him. Who else would it be?! No, it isn’t him." Reaching the front counter she asked Sarah, "Did someone ask for me?"
"Uh-huh!" Sarah’s arms were folded and she nodded to the table she’d sat last. "Mystery Bus Guy?"
"Mystery Bus Guy." Maribeth realized that she was fighting for breath only when Sarah slapped her hard between the shoulder blades. She could just turn and walk away, she thought, and as if he’d heard her, Mystery Bus Guy lifted his handsome head from the shadow of his folded menu, met her eyes and half rose to his feet. "Excuse me," Maribeth reached for a normal voice before turning on her heel and clipping back into the pantry.
"How did he describe me?" she asked Emily who was even now half over the cook’s window relaying details to Denise. Shit.
"Really pretty girl who only wears black, white and red. Marginally prepared for disaster." Emily’s wide mouth managed to look mocking while her eyes sold innocence.
"He did not say that!"
"I swear to my mother!" Behind Emily Denise’s face looked like a thundercloud, and Maribeth could hear her acrylic nails tapping menacingly against the cutting board.
"Em, get back on the floor! Denise…" Maribeth tried to think of something managerial to say and then decided against it. Denise was one of the few that never needed babysitting. She always did her job and Maribeth considered her a dear, personal friend. Besides, she didn’t believe in being bossy for the hell of it. "Neicy, don’t look like that!" Maribeth scooped up a carafe of coffee and two mugs in one hand, a dish of creamer and 2 small glasses of water in the other. The familiar weight of the drinks on her hands steadied her. "I’ve still got it." She murmured to herself before heading toward her mystery man and some answers.
Cade felt himself vibrating in his seat as he watched her speak briefly to the tiny woman at the register and disappear back into the unknown bowels of the restaurant, only to appear minutes later, hands full and headed his way. She walked…efficiently, he decided. She seemed different here than she had during their short acquaintance on the city bus, more deliberate, less anxious. It suited her, he decided. He appreciated facets. He smiled as she slid a coffee cup his way, poured it half full and then set the cream and ice water in front of him as well.
"So now I get to buy you coffee," Maribeth announced in what she hoped were round, dulcet, non-insane tones. He nodded sagely, silently. Well, fine. Two could play at that game. Maribeth took a sip of hot black coffee, telling herself that it would weaken her position were she to fuss with little packets of sugar and non-dairy creamer. Rather than grimace at the bitterness of the strong brew that her patrons either loved or hated, Maribeth watched his face over the edge of her thick white cup. Finding his eyes steady on hers, she set down her coffee and laughed softly.
"What?"
"I feel like we’re playing a game of mirror gone bad. Did you play that game as a kid? You know, I raise a hand and you copy?" Maribeth mimed several exaggerated movements for him to demonstrate.
Smiling, Cade ran a hand though his hair. "Uh, no, I didn’t play that game, but I think I know what you mean. What is your name, Umbrella Girl?"
"Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. Maribeth." She slid her right hand toward him for a handshake and wasn’t too surprised when he held it instead. Pulling her hand from his, Maribeth added with a definite edge to her voice, "Do you have a name, or should I just call you ‘Stalker’?"
Hiding the alarm he felt, Mystery Bus Guy asked, "Is that something you have to worry about often?" He meant it as a joke and was surprised at how serious his voice sounded.
"Only once." Maribeth shrugged.
"You’re kidding."
"No, no kidding. A boyfriend of mine had a friend that didn’t understand…boundaries. After my boyfriend went to college, I’d just turn around and he’d be there. At the grocery store. At the library. At my college dorm. He drove right onto the lawn at my parents place and got out of the car with a huge vase full of roses, a big smile on his wide-open face. He scared the hell out of me. Luckily, my dad scared the hell out of him and that was that."
"Christ. I’m Cade, and I promise not to stalk you."
"Fair enough." Maribeth took another shot of caffeine and noticed Denise coming toward them. "Danger, Will Robinson! This girl’s always loaded for bear."
Cade looked to see a young fury bearing down on them and had just enough time to recall one stanza of the wicked witch of the west theme before she was upon them, sliding smoothly into the booth beside Maribeth, displacing her with apparently little to no effort. The baby-faced medusa bared her teeth at him in a flash of pseudo-friendliness before speaking in a dangerously sweet sing-song, "I’m Denise. Who are you and where do you live?"
Maribeth wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. So much for a beautiful, mysterious romance.
"Denise! You don’t have to answer that, Cade. Denise, what are you doing here?"
"Checking with you before clocking out, of course." Maribeth narrowed her eyes, as both women knew full well that this was something neither of them had bothered with once they’d determined the other to be trustworthy. "Seriously. Steve came in late so I need your key card to authorize being on the clock past my scheduled time out. As for you, I suggest that you do answer my questions. Less painful that way, you know. That is, unless you enjoy having a hostile chaperone while attempting to get the girl." Maribeth shook her head ruefully and made a small strangled sound.
"Cade Nelson." Cade reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and handed Denise a business card. "There’s my work address and phone as well as home phone, cell and email address. Maribeth, " he handed her a second card, "you should have at least as much information as our friend Denise."
Satisfied that she had enough information to give to the police should Maribeth turn up missing, Denise reverted to her usual darling self and said goodbye.
"I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to dinner." Cade smiled at Maribeth ruefully.
"No, but you can stay and have dinner while I run to the bank before it closes. If you want to stay until eight we can take the bus together."
"Actually, I brought my car. I usually drive my car into the city and then park it and take the bus. That’s why I’m here, really. I hadn’t realized that I was looking forward to seeing you until you weren’t there tonight. I’d seen you head this way the last few days when you got off of the bus and so…I could drive you home when you’re done with your shift if that’s okay with you."
Maribeth thought for a moment and then decided that if this guy was going to break her heart, he would at the very least be a very good time up until that point. It had been a too long since her last very good time. "Deal!" She stood and reached out a hand for a menu from the dinner hostess just coming onto the evening shift. "Dinner’s on me," she said, and felt a curl of anticipation twist low in her belly. "I’ll be back."
For more creative writing spins, visit Jen at Sprite's Keeper!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Spin Cycle: Exit, Stage Left...
In the spring of 1994, I was just shy of turning 18 and had been anorexic on-and-off for 6 years. All seniors at the Arts High were required to complete a "senior project", so in addition to academics, senior class theater rehearsal and daily out-patient treatment at the University of Minnesota, I had agreed to be in a musical directed by my dear friend David.
By that point, I had reduced my intake to 6oz of water a week, which I used to take either a box of diuretics or a box of laxatives (I alternated every other week.) I remember throwing up the blue dye from the pills and mornings spent crawling to the bathroom in order to pull myself into a hot tub , the only thing that helped the pain. My dad told me that several doctors instructed him to start choosing a casket. Nice, huh?
The day before the first performance of David's show, I had some sugar-free jello. You know, for energy. When the time came, I stepped onstage and sang and danced my heart out, until a segue halfway through the show where the cast turned it's back to the audience and sang while a video montage played overhead. To relay what happened next, I must rely on the accounts of friends and family to round out the few details that I remember:
When we lined up, I stood next to my best friend and room-mate Kristen. In that moment, I knew that I was not okay but had only a split second to think, "Oh, shit." before the world swooped around me. As I lost consciousness, I reached for Kristy and my hand slid into her back pocket before I fell off of the stage and into the orchestra, almost taking her down with me. I'm told that my mother came flying up the aisle from the audience before anyone else realised what was happening, and that she just missed catching me. As it happened, I took out the percussion section and my mother caused further destruction on her way to my side.
I remember crawling toward the lights beneath the stage and hearing my mother screaming my name. She says that she yelled for someone to call 911 as she shook me, held my face in her hands, tried to get me to respond. I remember a flash of Kristen's face as she ran alongside the gurney as the EMTs rolled me to the ambulance. I pressed her hand in mine and made her promise to sing my part for me. (Incidentally, my solo in that show began, "Can your God love me? My life of such debris, this mess of my own making?" Scarily fitting...) I remember drifting in and out while the guy EMTs discussed how I was probably just a dumb pregnant slut. (Really?! Assholes.)
At the hospital, tests showed that my white blood count was so low the doctor said that by all rights I shouldn't have survived, and my blood pressure was that of an infant's. They pumped me full of fluids via an iv before sending me home to sleep it off in my mother's bed. Someone (my mother? my boyfriend Ryan?) talked me into eating some kind of cream soup and...happily ever after.
Years later, as I reminisced with my mom and a friend that was in the audience that fateful night, I mentioned crawling under stage toward the lights. When they exchanged a look, I asked, "What?!" It was then that my mother told me what she hadn't been able to tell me at the time: namely that there were no lights under the stage. Good news, everyone! Dying doesn't hurt. Good news! I grew up, I healed, I survived.
For more survival spins, visit Jen at Sprite's Keeper.
By that point, I had reduced my intake to 6oz of water a week, which I used to take either a box of diuretics or a box of laxatives (I alternated every other week.) I remember throwing up the blue dye from the pills and mornings spent crawling to the bathroom in order to pull myself into a hot tub , the only thing that helped the pain. My dad told me that several doctors instructed him to start choosing a casket. Nice, huh?
The day before the first performance of David's show, I had some sugar-free jello. You know, for energy. When the time came, I stepped onstage and sang and danced my heart out, until a segue halfway through the show where the cast turned it's back to the audience and sang while a video montage played overhead. To relay what happened next, I must rely on the accounts of friends and family to round out the few details that I remember:
When we lined up, I stood next to my best friend and room-mate Kristen. In that moment, I knew that I was not okay but had only a split second to think, "Oh, shit." before the world swooped around me. As I lost consciousness, I reached for Kristy and my hand slid into her back pocket before I fell off of the stage and into the orchestra, almost taking her down with me. I'm told that my mother came flying up the aisle from the audience before anyone else realised what was happening, and that she just missed catching me. As it happened, I took out the percussion section and my mother caused further destruction on her way to my side.
I remember crawling toward the lights beneath the stage and hearing my mother screaming my name. She says that she yelled for someone to call 911 as she shook me, held my face in her hands, tried to get me to respond. I remember a flash of Kristen's face as she ran alongside the gurney as the EMTs rolled me to the ambulance. I pressed her hand in mine and made her promise to sing my part for me. (Incidentally, my solo in that show began, "Can your God love me? My life of such debris, this mess of my own making?" Scarily fitting...) I remember drifting in and out while the guy EMTs discussed how I was probably just a dumb pregnant slut. (Really?! Assholes.)
At the hospital, tests showed that my white blood count was so low the doctor said that by all rights I shouldn't have survived, and my blood pressure was that of an infant's. They pumped me full of fluids via an iv before sending me home to sleep it off in my mother's bed. Someone (my mother? my boyfriend Ryan?) talked me into eating some kind of cream soup and...happily ever after.
Years later, as I reminisced with my mom and a friend that was in the audience that fateful night, I mentioned crawling under stage toward the lights. When they exchanged a look, I asked, "What?!" It was then that my mother told me what she hadn't been able to tell me at the time: namely that there were no lights under the stage. Good news, everyone! Dying doesn't hurt. Good news! I grew up, I healed, I survived.
For more survival spins, visit Jen at Sprite's Keeper.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Spin Cycle: Adventures in Babysitting
Does anyone else remember this movie?! It came out in 1987, so I must have been at least 12 when I saw it (on VHS) for the first time. Yesterday's (okay, this morning's!) post had me copy-and-pasting embed codes like a mad-woman, so I can't help myself: I'm including some of my favorite scenes in this post (and then I'll stop adding a ton of video to my posts. Honest. You, however, can watch all of Adventures in Babysitting, parts 1-10, on YouTube if you wanna!) I highly recommend watching it with your favorite preteen! I remember the adolescent thrill I got when a pre-Leaving Las Vegas Elisabeth Shue cried, "Don't FUCK...with the babysitter!" Brad, his pervy friend Darrell and the cutie little girl, the boyfriend's vanity plates proclaiming him, "Soooo cool!" Thor, God of Thunder! Brenda without her glasses at the bus station mistaking a rat for a kitten?! Awesome, awesome, awesome! For more adventures, visit my pal Jen at Sprite's Keeper!
Friday, February 20, 2009
Spin Cycle: Christ Chex and Ass Master
Here are two of my favorite comedians, doing two routines that make me laugh until I cry. I grew up Roman Catholic, and spent a lot of time at my Nana's opera company (can you say divas in tights and sequins, people?!) Needless to say, organized religion and gay men are part of my paradigm. Enjoy!
For more funny spins, visit Sprite's Keeper!
For more funny spins, visit Sprite's Keeper!
Friday, February 13, 2009
Spin Cycle: A Letter To The Girl I Was
Dear Angela,
I am writing because there are some things I know that I want you to know, too. I know that you are really angry, and feel really alone. I'm not going to tell you to eat, or to stop lying, or stop shoplifting, or stop taking boxes of diuretics and laxatives. I just want you to know that everything is going to be all right.
You know all the nights that you lie awake in bed, reliving something stupid that you said or did, sure that you'll never stop feeling embarrassed and ashamed? Unfortunately, the adults are right about this one: you will not only not care, you will not remember what, specifically, made you feel like crap.
I know that you truly think that no boy will ever want you or love you. You are going to look back on all the guys you're messing with now and feel so sad, because you are going to eventually realize that even the nice guys didn't give you anything meaningful to take with you.
You're looking for Dad's approval when you seek out those guys, and you have to let that go for awhile. Eventually the two of you will make peace with each other. He'll tell you that he's always loved you, always thought you were beautiful. You will never really understand one another, but you will know that you were looking for something hidden, not lost. Someday he'll even buy you a water heater. I know that doesn't impress you now, but believe me, when the time comes it's gonna rock your world!
I also want you to know that you're right about Jesse, he IS the one. You're going to have three amazing children with him, and your kids will be the kind of people that you'd choose to be friends with, even if they weren't yours. I know what you're thinking. Chill out, because you can handle it, and more, you're going to be really, really good at being a mom. Better than anything else you've ever done. Jesse will propose to you while you lay on the couch with him, in an apartment you'll share with him, while your daughter sleeps in the next room and a son grows in your belly. You'll be watching the movie The Thirteenth Warrior. It hasn't been made yet, but it will have Antonio Banderas in it. In short, you have my permission to stalk Jesse at will.
You're going to graduate late, while you spend the summer at Nana's. Jesse is going to follow you to Milwaukee, share a flat with a guy named Johnny, and support himself by drawing basset hounds, of all things. Do me a favor and work harder at the opera company. Go out of your way to please Nana and Grandpa. You think putting Sylvester to sleep was devastating? A cakewalk compared to losing Nana and Grandpa.
Mom and Dad will lose the house. Both of the girls will live with you and Jesse at some time during their junior and senior years of high school. You'll be really, really sad when they get lives of their own. Lisa will surprise you by growing up to be an amazing woman. Natalie will surprise you with her ability to hide pieces of herself from you. They will be your best friends, so try really hard not to be jealous of them. They're jealous of you, too. Seriously.
You are going to fail. You are going to despair. There will be days when you can't remember a moment of happiness. Those days will amount to nothing in the wake of the joy that your family brings you. You will laugh in the sun and banish the dark, kid. (Trust me, it happens. I was there.)
I miss you sometimes. Your funky clothes, your big mouth, your awe-inspiring rages, your cigarettes! In fact, what I really want to tell you is, "I love you." There are days when I parent my daughter knowing that I am making things right for you, too.
I love you, love you, love you~A
(P.S. I lied: Eat something, stop lying and quit stealing and taking that shit-it's killing you. Try to love yourself, honey.)
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Spin Cycle-Money Matters
Okay, so it's Saturday. I officially suck. In my defense, I was unable to post yesterday because I was out playing sober cab at a birthday party for one of my dearest (I won't say oldest) friends. I spent half of the night going through laptop withdrawal and wondering why the hell bars don't provide WiFi. (A sad commentary on my social life, I know.) I hadn't posted on this spin earlier in the week because money is a huge, complicated topic and I capitulate between resignation and paralyzed fear when I think about our country's (and my family's) economic state.
I have always been a "more is more" girl. I've always openly admitted that I have caviar taste and a bologny budget. That said, my main strategy for surviving lean times is, "Appreciate what you have." I don't know about you, but I have cupboards full of nice things that I don't use; occasionally I come across something I didn't even know we had. If I take the time to take really good care of all I have (clean and detail the vehicles, scrub and organize my home, take care with my clothes and my books, my yard and my plants,) I have far less time available for coveting what I don't have. Besides which, do I deserve "more" when I don't appreciate what I've been "given"? I'm thinking not so much!
I'm big on re-purposing things: posting items that we can't use on Freecycle and Craig's List, bringing used kid's clothes to Once Upon A Child and books to Half Price Books to be exchanged for cash (that will be used on new ,or "new-to-us", clothes and books. I've looked into coupon clipping sites, fascinated by the concept of double coupons and coming close to receiving money back after a grocery trip, but always feel that I'm in way over my head, like they have some kind of hive mind packed with knowledge incomprehensible to me. In the end I always fall back on something that my husband first said to me ten or more years ago, "As long as we're together, we can get through anything."
Here are a few links to help get us through the hard times:
Foxway Budgeting Plan
The Tightwad Gazette by Amy Dacyczyn
Appreciate What You Have
Money Makes The World Go 'Round
I have always been a "more is more" girl. I've always openly admitted that I have caviar taste and a bologny budget. That said, my main strategy for surviving lean times is, "Appreciate what you have." I don't know about you, but I have cupboards full of nice things that I don't use; occasionally I come across something I didn't even know we had. If I take the time to take really good care of all I have (clean and detail the vehicles, scrub and organize my home, take care with my clothes and my books, my yard and my plants,) I have far less time available for coveting what I don't have. Besides which, do I deserve "more" when I don't appreciate what I've been "given"? I'm thinking not so much!
I'm big on re-purposing things: posting items that we can't use on Freecycle and Craig's List, bringing used kid's clothes to Once Upon A Child and books to Half Price Books to be exchanged for cash (that will be used on new ,or "new-to-us", clothes and books. I've looked into coupon clipping sites, fascinated by the concept of double coupons and coming close to receiving money back after a grocery trip, but always feel that I'm in way over my head, like they have some kind of hive mind packed with knowledge incomprehensible to me. In the end I always fall back on something that my husband first said to me ten or more years ago, "As long as we're together, we can get through anything."
Here are a few links to help get us through the hard times:
Foxway Budgeting Plan
The Tightwad Gazette by Amy Dacyczyn
Appreciate What You Have
Money Makes The World Go 'Round
Friday, January 30, 2009
Spin Cycle: Life is a Song
The first time that I heard this song, I was struck dumb. Here is a sample of what I see in my head every time I hear it. (Warning: While I tried to edit my family life into three and a half minutes, let's just say that didn't work out for me. The song plays several times over-quit when you've had enough-lol!)
Michael Buble Everything Lyrics
You're a falling star
You're the get away car
You're the line in the sand
When I go too far
You're the swimming pool
On an August day
And you're the perfect thing to say
And you play it coy
But it's kinda cute
Oh, when you smile at me
You know exactly what you do
Baby don't pretend
That you don't know it's true
'Cause you can see it
When I look at you
And in this crazy life
And through these crazy times
It's you, it's you
You make me sing
You're every line
You're every word
You're everything
You're a carousel
You're a wishing well
And you light me up
When you ring my bell
You're a mystery
You're from outer space
You're every minute of my every day
And I can't believe
That (you're my) man
And I get to kiss you baby
Just because I can
Whatever comes our way
We'll see it through
And you know
That's what our love can do
And in this crazy life
And through these crazy times
It's you, it's you
You make me sing
You're every line
You're every word
You're everything
And so la la la la, la la la
So la la la la, la la la
And in this crazy life
And through these crazy times
It's you, it's you
You make me sing
You're every line
You're every word
You're everything
You're every song
And I sing along
'Cause you're my everything
Yeah, yeah
So la la la la, la la la
So la la la la, la la-la-la, la la la
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Michael Buble Everything Lyrics
You're a falling star
You're the get away car
You're the line in the sand
When I go too far
You're the swimming pool
On an August day
And you're the perfect thing to say
And you play it coy
But it's kinda cute
Oh, when you smile at me
You know exactly what you do
Baby don't pretend
That you don't know it's true
'Cause you can see it
When I look at you
And in this crazy life
And through these crazy times
It's you, it's you
You make me sing
You're every line
You're every word
You're everything
You're a carousel
You're a wishing well
And you light me up
When you ring my bell
You're a mystery
You're from outer space
You're every minute of my every day
And I can't believe
That (you're my) man
And I get to kiss you baby
Just because I can
Whatever comes our way
We'll see it through
And you know
That's what our love can do
And in this crazy life
And through these crazy times
It's you, it's you
You make me sing
You're every line
You're every word
You're everything
And so la la la la, la la la
So la la la la, la la la
And in this crazy life
And through these crazy times
It's you, it's you
You make me sing
You're every line
You're every word
You're everything
You're every song
And I sing along
'Cause you're my everything
Yeah, yeah
So la la la la, la la la
So la la la la, la la-la-la, la la la
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Spin Cycle-Rhyme Time
After many-many weeks of surreptitiously reading posts at Sprite's Keeper's Spin Cycle I've decided to join in! This week's spin asks participants to write (or quote) a poem or piece of prose. I was going to write something fantastic just for my first spin, but let's face it...it's Thursday, it's late, and frankly it's too much pressure! SO-I submit for your reading pleasure (I hope!) a small poem that I wrote shortly after My Bella Figlia was born:
Hybrid child
your father and I
we spliced our genes
found in-betweens
where we could bide within you
Into air
uncurling daily
you far exceed
our scientific greed.
Hybrid child
your father and I
we spliced our genes
found in-betweens
where we could bide within you
Into air
uncurling daily
you far exceed
our scientific greed.
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